


letters from long ago

by blueink3



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Banter, Exes as Friends, Fluff, Gen, Healing, Light Angst, M/M, Reminiscing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26431597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueink3/pseuds/blueink3
Summary: She steps forward before she loses her nerve, listening to the old bell jingle above the door as she pushes it open.“Welcome to Rose Apothe - oh.”He’s just as beautiful as she remembers, eyes wide, lips rounded in surprise.“Hello, David,” she replies. Her palms are starting to sweat and she wipes them on her jeans, adjusting the strap of the tote bag looped around her wrist.“Rachel."Or, Rachel finds something in her closet she thinks Patrick might want to have.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & Rachel, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 290
Kudos: 837





	1. Chapter 1

She could have just shipped it, like a normal person. 

A normal person who drives the ten minutes to the local post office, finds a nondescript “it fits, it ships” box, pays the flat rate postage, and continues about her day instead of driving halfway across Ontario to deliver something Patrick probably doesn’t want anyway. It’s been years. 

Literal years. 

He does not need what she’s come to give him.

She has to admit she’s curious, though. She has been since David Rose went stalking past her in a dingy yard at a charmingly inept barbecue so many years ago; since Patrick followed her into Room 9 looking wrecked and said two words she wished he had told her even slightly earlier: _“I’m gay.”_ But as she puts her car into park outside the store that bears her ex-fiance’s husband’s name, she has a growing suspicion that this might have been a massive mistake. 

“Okay,” she breathes, checking her reflection in the mirror on the visor. “This was not a completely ridiculous idea.” 

_Yes it was._

Clearing her throat in an effort to ignore her subconscious, she snags the tote from the passenger seat and exits the car into the cool spring air. It’s late in the afternoon - nearly early evening. Her stomach rumbles, and she glances at the Cafe wondering if it would be worth it to grab dinner before heading back on the road, but she’s stalling and she knows it. The store is probably wrapping up for the day; she doesn’t have much time, so she crosses the street and pauses on the sidewalk, watching through the warm glow of the windows as David frowns down at the register as if it’s done him a personal wrong. 

She steps forward before she loses her nerve, listening to the old bell jingle above the door as she pushes it open. 

“Welcome to Rose Apothe - oh.” 

He’s just as beautiful as she remembers, eyes wide, lips rounded in surprise. 

“Hello, David,” she replies. Her palms are starting to sweat and she wipes them on her jeans, adjusting the strap of the tote bag looped around her wrist. 

“Rachel,” he breathes, fitting an enormous amount of surprise into those two tiny syllables. “What - what are you doing here?” Then he winces, like it was rude to ask what your husband’s ex-fiancee is doing in your store on a Saturday when she lives hours away.

She laughs a little and shakes her head, the knot in her chest loosening when the tenseness of his shoulders eases. She lifts her right arm, the cloth tote swinging. “Just came to drop something off for Patrick. I thought he might want it.” 

“Oh.” David comes around the counter, gesturing towards the back of the store. “He’s unloading a vendor drop off. I’m pretending to be busy so I don’t have to help.” 

She laughs again, more genuine this time, and clasps her hands behind her back, tote bag bumping against her legs. 

“You’re welcome to wait,” he continues, looking nervous but sincere. “He shouldn’t be long.” 

Rachel can’t fault him for any lingering anxiety. The last time she saw him in person ended up not being a great day for any of them. 

“The store is wonderful,” she says, looking around, and David immediately perks up with pride. “Instagram doesn’t do it justice.” 

“You follow us on instagram?” 

“Of course I do.” She leans down to smell a candle on the table, if only to avoid the intensity of his gaze. “At first it was just idle curiosity - I didn’t get a chance to come in last time,” she moves on to a bottle of hand soap, “but you frame the products so beautifully in the pictures. I just want to light a candle and sit down in here with a book and a blanket.”

David makes a noise like a whine/groan, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, as if she just told him he had the best outfit on the Met Gala red carpet.

“We ship to your area, you know.” 

“I know. Marcy told me,” she says with a sheepish grin. “I thought it would be weird if you saw my name on an order form when we haven’t really...” she trails off and vaguely gestures between them with her free hand. 

“I would have filled it regardless,” he replies with a smirk. Then he raises an eyebrow. “Might have even thrown in a few free samples.” 

But before she can respond to that, a voice she knows only too well calls out from the back. 

“Babe, what’d you do with the - ” Patrick comes around the corner and stops dead in the doorway, eyes widening as he registers her presence. “Rach.” He licks his lips, and she doesn’t miss the way his gaze darts to David ever so briefly, checking in. David gives him a reassuring smile and holds his arm out, and Patrick sinks sideways into the embrace, fitting them together like pieces of a puzzle. 

“Rachel was just telling me how wonderful my instagram posts are.” It’s clearly an old argument because Patrick just rolls his eyes and leans in further to the nook beneath David’s arm. 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

David looks at her again. “He thought we needed a professional. Mind you, the only professional in a 30 kilometer radius is _Ray_.” 

She remembers hearing about Ray - Patrick’s first roommate. She heard about him from Marcy, though, back before their one-sided radio silence was broken on an unsuspecting afternoon with the smell of charred burger hanging in the air. They had more pressing topics to talk about that day. No, she didn’t hear about Ray’s affinity for letting nothing stand in his way - not even a locked door - for months to come, when Patrick’s tentative **How are you?** text became a three hour phone conversation. 

“Oh, this from the guy who wanted to use a poorly-lit selfie for our engagement announcement,” she blurts, and she holds her breath because though she meant it teasingly, it could go _very_ badly, but then David laughs - high and loud and unexpected as he pets the back of Patrick’s head. 

“See? I rest my case. Thank you, Rachel, you’ve been _incredibly_ helpful.” 

She ducks her head, blushing, and silence descends. It’s a little awkward, but not necessarily uncomfortable. She should just get down to the reason she came - she can only imagine what’s going through Patrick’s head - but before she can, she watches the two of them have an entire conversation without ever uttering a word. 

It’s… beautiful. 

“I’m going to get some coffee from the Cafe,” David announces. “Rachel, would you like anything?” 

“No, I’m good, thanks.” She opens her mouth to say more, to tell him this really isn’t that serious and he doesn’t need to go, but he’s already pressing a kiss to Patrick’s cheek and murmuring something about tea. 

He gives her a warm smile as he passes, and the bell over the door signals his departure. A last minute slice of fear has her wanting to run to the window and call him back, but she holds her ground. Though they text a lot and talk on the phone occasionally, she and Patrick haven’t actually been alone together since that afternoon that’s more of a blur than anything else. A hazy conflagration of hurt, confusion, anger, and healing where they broke themselves down so they could build each other back up. 

She clocks the **RA** on the wall as she turns back to him, this boy she fell in love with. This man she was supposed to marry. 

But, no. Patrick is exactly where he’s supposed to be. 

“Marriage suits you,” she says, meaning every word, and his ears go red as he scratches the back of his neck. 

“Thanks.” 

His wedding ring catches the light and, despite her most fervent wishes and her genuine happiness for him, it does make something pang deep within her. A sigh for the young girl she used to be who’d look at Patrick Brewer and imagine putting a band of gold on his finger. 

“So…” he starts, chuckling slightly. 

“Right!” she says, overly loud in the empty store. “Um, I’m moving to Toronto at the end of the month and I was going through stuff at my parents’ house and I came across this.” She opens the tote bag and pulls out its contents, running her thumb over the distressed seam where familiar navy wool meets gold leather. “I thought you might want to have this back.” 

The letterman jacket that fit him perfectly as he walked down high school hallways, that he draped over her shoulders on cold evenings, that he asked her to wear to his baseball games; that was his but became hers is heavy in her hand, and she feels like the sound of her beating heart is echoing off the hardwood floors. This was probably a mistake. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “That’s, um, very - ”

“Silly,” she says, shaking her head, red hair curtaining off the flaming of her face. 

“Sweet,’ I was going to say,” he amends.

“Oh.” A relieved laugh escapes her mouth as he steps forward and reaches for the leather sleeve, fingering it gently. 

“I completely forgot about this.” 

It’s a nice jacket, Rachel can admit. The school had gone all out for them - bake sales, boosters, car washes, the works. _Brewer_ is stitched on the right side, opposite a large **T** patch for their Tiger mascot. The left sleeve has his number, **12** , and the right has a **C** for Captain. Rachel being tiny and it being Canada, she was constantly cold when they went out, and one night, Patrick gave it to her and never asked for it back. She wore it proudly around school and to his games and even to her college classes. Then life threw her a curve ball no captain of the baseball team could prepare her for. 

She returned the ring, but she kept the jacket. 

Until now. 

“You came all the way out here to give me this?” he asks, eyes wide with wonder and mouth curved into something soft and sincere. It’s a look she used to let herself get lost in. After the fact, in her darker moments, she wondered if that expression was something he put on. An act he did to get her to cave on an argument. 

But that’s just him. Patrick Brewer. Eyes like weapons of mass destruction.

“I could have just dropped it off with your parents, but I guess… I guess I felt bad for missing the wedding. I didn’t want you to think - I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t happy for you.” She bites her lip and swallows around an unexpected swell of emotion. “It was very nice of you to invite me. I really did have a work conference.” 

Patrick smiles softly, seeing right through her. Just as he always has. “I know.” Then his expression turns playful and he tugs the jacket from her hand. “Think it still fits?” 

She laughs and clears her throat, surreptitiously wiping at her eye as he slides his arms through the sleeves and tugs the buttons together with a wince.

“I don’t remember it being this tight,” he mutters. 

“Well I don’t remember seventeen-year-old you having those shoulders,” she says with a raised eyebrow, poking at him. “Like - damn, Brewer.” 

He laughs self-consciously, but then leans in to the moment, modeling to the left before pulling a muscle pose to the right. “I hike a lot,” he says, like that’s an explanation. 

“Nuh uh. Hiking doesn’t do _that._ ” 

He looks sheepish. “I may have discovered Crossfit.” 

Yeah, that makes more sense. “I can tell. Oh God, you’re not one of those gym rats that prefaces every conversation with ‘Oh I do _Crossfit_ …” she teases, adopting a deep, overly macho voice, like it’s ten years ago and she’s ribbing him for giving her a play-by-play for a game she just watched. 

“Only to David,” he says as the bell rings. “And only when he’s bringing home donuts for the fourth time in five days.”

“I’ve never heard you complain before!” David snaps as he nudges the door closed with his hip, before finally looking up and stopping dead. His jaw drops and his gaze rakes up and down Patrick’s body in a truly obscene way. If Rachel didn’t find it all so hilarious, she’d turn away to give them a moment. 

God, she wishes she had recorded that. 

“Um, _hello_ ,” David finally manages, the tray of drinks wobbling in his hand. 

“Hi,” Patrick responds and the blush has spread beyond his ears, to his cheeks and down his neck. Rachel clasps her hands under her chin, gaze darting delightfully back and forth. 

David whirls around to her. “ _This_ is what you wanted to bring him?” 

“Yep,” she replies. “Disappointed?” 

“That is… not the word I’m thinking of,” David breathes, Patrick chokes, and Rachel can’t help it, she doubles over in laughter.

“Wow,” she manages once she’s caught her breath. “So clearly the honeymoon period is still alive and well. I’m happy I could help contribute to the role-playing portion of the evening.” 

Both of their jaws drop, and Patrick looks mortified, but David just looks intrigued. Like she's just given him an idea. 

She winks. “You’re welcome.” 

Patrick hastily takes off the jacket, despite David’s pout, but carefully folds it and places it on the counter. “Thank you, Rach. It is nice to have, and not for the devious reasons your dirty mind is thinking.” 

She smiles again and nods, throat going tight because she didn’t realize they could have this. This lovingly teasing banter. It's easy over text. It's harder in person.

“Well,” she says, slapping her hands on her thighs, “I should get back on the road.” 

“You’re not staying over?” Patrick blurts, looking concerned. 

“Oh, no, I’m heading back. Those boxes won’t pack themselves.” 

But Patrick is still looking at her like, like he’s never seen her before. “You drove… hours to drop off a high school letterman jacket?” 

“I drove hours to drop off a high school letterman jacket to _you,_ " she specifies, shrugging and not quite meeting his eye. “I wanted to see you. Both of you.” Then she inhales shakily. “I wanted you to know that I really was upset to miss the wedding. I saw the pictures. It was beautiful.” 

David presses his lips together and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you got us the espresso machine.” 

Patrick smirks and tugs his husband in close, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Rachel knows what those kisses feel like, but she doesn’t think Patrick ever had that lovestruck expression on his face when he did it. 

“You’re his favorite,” he says, looking up and meeting David's gaze. Again, they have one of those silent conversations involving nothing but a raised set of eyebrows and a slight shift of one shoulder. 

David turns back to her and smiles warmly. “Stay with us.” 

Oh. That’s - that’s not what she was expecting. And it’s _definitely_ not what she was prepared for. Emotionally or, like, pajamaly. 

“I didn’t even bring anything.” 

“That’s all right,” Patrick murmurs. And he looks so sincere. Like he really does want her to stay. “We have extra toothbrushes.” 

“And it’ll give you a chance to try out the products,” David says, complete with an enticing little shoulder shimmy. And because he's a mind reader, he adds, “Besides, I doubt it’s the first time you’ve borrowed my husband’s sleepwear.” 

She laughs but nods in concession. She packed one of his old t-shirts just yesterday. 

“Only if it’s not an imposition,” she says carefully, but Patrick is already stepping forward and reaching for her hand. 

“It’s been too long,” those WMDs implore. “Stay.” 

She sighs, helpless in the face of such destructive power, and nods. “Okay. If you’re sure.” 

But David is already flitting around the store, shoving bottles of wine under his arm and pulling travel bottles of skincare products that will best suit Rachel’s palette off the shelves. 

“Please,” he says. “An opportunity to get you sloppy and hear all about Patrick Brewer’s high school exploits? I should be buying _you_ an espresso machine.” 

She watches them close down and clean up, even offering to man a broom so Patrick can reconcile the register and David can continue to customize a daily skincare routine for her. When they finish, she heads out the door of a store she really does feel at home in with a promise to follow them to their brand new house. She unlocks her car and tosses the now empty tote bag in the passenger seat, listening to David and Patrick lock up through the cracked window. 

“She knows I was kidding about the espresso machine, right? Like, she knows she can’t have ours, right?” 

“Yes, babe,” Patrick laughs. “She knows.” He wraps his arm around David’s waist, probably because he’s too short to wrap it around his shoulders, like he used to do to her, and walks them to their car. 

He waves at her, and she gives him a thumbs up in return, letting him know she’s ready to go when they are. Her ex-fiance and his husband.

One day, probably sooner rather than later, she’ll stop thinking of them like that. The ex and the next. 

He’ll always be her first love whose letterman jacket was too big but kept her so warm. More importantly, though, he’ll also always be what he was first:

Her best friend.

One day, _definitely_ sooner rather than later, that’s how she’ll think of him again.

And going by the new number she has in her contacts and the string of texts filled with detailed steps for her recently developed nighttime regimen, she has a feeling he won't be the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm marking this complete for now, but I'm contemplating a chapter two where wine will be consumed and trips down memory lane will occur. We shall see...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _completely _blown away by the response to this, so here, have chapter two, lovelies.__

“Are you fucking serious,” she deadpans as she pulls the car into the driveway, parking it behind theirs. 

She almost wants to be angry at David for how perfect the house is. 

She almost wants to be, but she can’t, so she’ll stew in good-natured envy and impressed gushing instead, and she’ll _definitely_ tell Patrick to his face and within earshot of his husband what a lucky son-of-a-bitch he is. 

She had heard the story, of course. Actually she knew about the house before David did. Patrick had texted her on an unsuspecting Saturday evening, just as she was putting makeup on for a rare night out when her phone buzzed across the bathroom counter, knocking her eyeshadow into the sink. 

**[Patrick]**   
**I think just did something stupid.**

She had frowned, because the spectrum of what Patrick considers to be stupid is _vast,_ but she put her eyeliner down so she could respond. 

**_How stupid? On a scale of toilet papering Mrs. Millhouse’s car to abandoning everything and everyone you know and love?_ **

Perhaps that wasn’t fair. Patrick leaving wasn’t stupid; it was necessary. His execution, however, could have been a little more elegant. They’ve joked about it since then, but she always second-guesses herself whenever she teases. The wounds are certainly healed but the skin is still tender. 

**[Patrick]**   
**Somewhere in between?**

**_Spill it, Brewer._ **

She dropped the phone on the counter and hurried to finish her lipstick before whatever text message confession came in that would let her know if this was a typical 'Patrick Brewer overthinking' situation or a 'cancel your plans for the evening and crack open a bottle of wine' situation. 

**[Patrick]**   
**I might be buying a house? I mean - I asked if they’d be willing to sell to me.**

She froze, lips parted, nearly drawing a line across her cheek with her matte. 

**_Without David? Oh, Patrick, no. My God._ **

**[Patrick]**   
**Not good?**

He was a lovestruck idiot, which is why she showed him no mercy: 

**_Which flowers would you like at your funeral? Nevermind, I’m sure David will have opinions._ **

And he had texted back, wondering why _he_ was the one dying first in this scenario which made her snort. She didn’t cancel her plans, but she did allow him to plead his case and text out his anxiety over the course of the evening. He had sent her a picture, but it really didn’t do it justice.

“Wow,” she breathes as she exits her car, the sun just setting behind the stone cottage. 

David grins broadly. “Right?” He beckons her forward enthusiastically, and she has no choice but to follow, meeting Patrick’s sheepish grin as he joins her on the other side of the car. 

“We don’t get a lot of guests,” he says by way of explanation. 

“Because Stevie doesn’t count!” David yells, having already made it to the door. She’s heard about Stevie, too. Patrick’s exact words were, _You two should never be in a room together._

Frankly, Rachel can’t _wait_ to meet her. 

“He’s excited,” he murmurs. 

“I am, too,” she replies, and she means it. 

Patrick smiles fondly, the smile that used to jello her knees, and gestures for her to move up the walk ahead of him. The smile just makes her kind of want to hug him now, though, instead of kiss him senseless. She wants to burrow into that sturdy embrace because she’s safe there under those warm, watchful eyes. 

And whether as a friend, a lover, a fiance, or whatever this is now, Patrick will never not make her feel safe. 

“Welcome!” David announces as she walks through the door. 

It’s both delightfully modern and yet rustic, melding both Patrick and David’s styles into something truly homey. Forget curling up with a blanket and a book in the store, Rachel is _thisclose_ to moving in here. It smells like cinnamon and cedar, with maybe a touch of tobacco and lavender. She can feel the tension of the day melt from her shoulders as Patrick gently nudges her further into the room. 

“Original hardwood floors,” David points out and the wannabe interior designer/HGTV addict in her almost swoons. “Oh,” he suddenly blurts, freezing for a moment. “I guess we weren’t prepared for company,” he murmurs, something catching his eye as he rushes across the living room, hastily opens a side table drawer, and knocks a bottle into it, slamming it shut. Given the positively _fluorescent_ blush staining Patrick’s cheeks, she’s going to go ahead and assume it was lube.

Oh this is too good. 

“You were prepared for something, though. Is it safe to sit?” she asks with an arched eyebrow and a knowing smile. “Should I put on rubber gloves?” Patrick flushes further and mumbles something. “What was that?” 

He sighs towards the ceiling, likely wishing that those original hardwood floors would swallow him whole. “We have a sheet.” 

She punches him in the arm. “Aw, I bet you do, Cub Scout.” She’s certainly not judging, though. Before they moved in together, the couch in her basement saw more of the action in their relationship than either of their beds. That and the backseat of Patrick’s car.

“But,” David interrupts, blotting at his now stress-sweaty forehead, “we’re not sitting just yet. At least not here.” He levels an infuriated look at Patrick who just shrugs his shoulders and stares wide-eyed in return, like each is blaming the other for not having the foresight to expect an ex-fiancee to drop into the middle of their living room unannounced. 

Rachel bites her lips to keep from laughing because honestly, well, it’s adorable. Ugh, they’re gross and she hates that she kind of loves it. And she loves that she doesn’t hate it. 

She honestly wasn’t sure what to expect seeing them interact together for the first time. Yes, she did have a work conference the weekend of the wedding. But she had also spent weeks staring at that RSVP before it was ever scheduled. 

This… doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it would.

“We’ll give you the full tour in a bit,” Patrick says, interrupting her musings, “but if we wait any longer, we’ll miss the best part.” He takes her hand and leads her through the kitchen where David already has his head buried in a cabinet. 

“The best part of what?” 

“Go ahead,” David says, shooing them away. “I’ll get supplies.” 

Patrick never does answer her nor does he give her a chance to wonder what supplies David is foraging for. Instead, he leads her out the back door to a beautiful deck with four Adirondack chairs lined up in a crescent around a bronze fire pit table, overlooking rolling hills of green kissing the horizon beneath an orange, setting sun. 

“Oh,” she breathes, letting go of Patrick’s hand so she can place it over her mouth. “It’s…” 

“Yeah,” he quietly replies. “It is.” 

She laughs, but it gets lodged in her throat, and she really doesn’t know why she’s getting emotional - Jesus, it’s just a _sunset_ \- but then Patrick wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his side, resting his head on hers, and she lets the tear slip down her cheek because this was their default position. She was just the right height to fit under his arm and her crown was the perfect place for his chin - until he found someone he was better suited for. Someone whose own arm he fit under a little more perfectly. 

“Ugh, sorry,” she mutters, scrubbing a hand across her face. “This really isn’t why I came.” 

“What? To cry on my freshly pressed shirt?” he teases, and she elbows him in the ribs. 

“Excuse you, there is nothing fresh about this.” 

“Ouch!” he laughs, shoving her aside, before promptly pulling her back in. “Look,” he starts, sobering, eyes never leaving the sunset, “even if - even if you didn’t have a work conference, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t come.” 

She sighs and wraps her arm around his waist, squeezing him. “I know.” Then she glances up and he glances down, and they smile. “I’m so happy for you, Patty.” 

He makes a face at the long-hated nickname but presses a kiss to her head all the same. “Thank you, Rach. You have no idea how much that means.” 

But before she can say that she can guess, the back door bangs open and David stumbles out, carrying three glasses and an open bottle of wine. 

“Did I miss it?” he blurts. “Why are you not sitting? Patrick, why isn’t the fire lit? This ambience is incorrect! How can Rachel appreciate the natural light when you’re all - ” he gestures wildly and the open bottles sloshes a bit of red wine on the deck, “distracted and snuggly!” 

“Yes, dear,” Patrick laughs, disentangling himself so he can press a kiss to David’s cheek and head towards the stack of wood in the iron holder by the grill. 

And Rachel uses the moment to get her breathing under control because for a second - _just_ a second - she thought David was mad that she and Patrick were hugging. But as she’s rapidly realizing, David and Patrick are solid in what they have. Beyond solid. They’re goddamn immoveable. Just as she knows that David is sure of and respects her relationship with Patrick and the history they share. 

And if she had any doubt, the wink he throws her as Patrick lights the fire dispels any lingering worries. She watches David ogle his husband’s ass and shakes her head, smiling as she settles into an Adirondack chair and pulls her knees to her chest. 

“He’s very good at that,” David says, filling a wine glass and handing it to her before taking the seat beside her.

She hums. “He used to be in charge of the pep rally bonfires. I’m convinced he was a pyromaniac in another life.” 

“Maybe in this life,” David mutters as the wood catches fire. “What else do you know?” 

She leans over and clinks her glass to his. “Everything.” 

They stay outside swapping stories until the sun dips behind the trees and the bottle of wine they brought out, and then the one they used to replenish it, runs dry. Patrick is only banned from interjecting twice, which Rachel frankly finds impressive but David apparently thinks is two times two many. He’s started merely holding out a hand when he senses his husband starting to interrupt Rachel’s recounting of their misspent youth. 

She tells him of pep rallies and bonfires and championship games. Of skipped classes and homecoming parades and prom court crowns. Of busted house parties and open mic nights and that one time Patrick got so drunk, she had to try and sneak him back into his own house - all five foot nothing of her - before dumping him in his bed and hiding in his closet when Clint came to investigate what the thud was. 

She answers every question David asks though some details she keeps for herself. But the soft smile Patrick sends her every time she does tells her that they’re perhaps not _only_ for herself. 

David gets Patrick now. But he was Rachel’s then. 

Her almost-husband’s husband devours every detail, and Patrick never stops her, even when the stories make the tips of his ears go pink (though that could just be the wine). No, he just sits back and seems to bask in the fact that they’re able to do this, the three of them. And who would have thought such an evening could exist had you asked any of them at a barbecue that was doomed from the start?

They eventually move inside when the fire burns down and David claims to have spotted a flying insect, and Rachel finally gets the full tour from him while Patrick orders pizza. Her head feels pleasantly fuzzy and her heart surprisingly full. She hasn’t let herself remember those things for a while. She buried them deep when Patrick left and never bothered unearthing them when she realized why.

He shows her the master bedroom with the view of the valley and the en suite whose tiles he’s particularly proud of; the guest bedroom where she’ll be staying that has his favorite furniture, and the second guest bedroom that they’ve converted into an office. 

“We don’t plan on having kids so it doesn’t make sense to have two guest bedrooms. That’s a pullout couch, though. It’s not very comfortable, which is why we put Alexis there.” 

She smiles because she knows Alexis a little and the thought of her on this daybed is highly amusing, but she can’t laugh. Because Patrick Brewer isn’t having kids and, though it’s not her place, it makes her unbearably sad. He said he wanted them - they had talked about it enough to be on the same page about marriage (though clearly some other conversations should have come first), but the Patrick she had imagined picking up their children is well and truly gone. 

And maybe he did want that with her. And maybe he doesn’t want it now. And that’s okay. People change.

He’s not her Patrick anymore.

“You okay?” David asks, far too prescient for how much wine is sloshing around their empty stomachs. 

“Yeah, good,” she manages. “It’s beautiful, David.” 

He preens at the compliment, but his gaze stays on her a second longer than it needs to. And, for the first time all evening, she feels absolutely vulnerable. Totally stripped bare. Utterly and completely _seen._ Not even Patrick managed to do that, even when they were dating. Granted, he was an idiot teenager so she’s not really holding it against him. David, though. David understands her far more than she’d necessarily like him to. 

It’s both wonderful and terrifying.

She clears her throat. “Shall we?” 

David nods and leads her back downstairs, pointing out the crown molding along the way and the spot where the wallpaper had been particularly stubborn to remove. When they get to the kitchen, Patrick is opening another bottle of wine and there’s a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants folded neatly on the kitchen table.

“Warm from the dryer,” he says, nodding towards them. “Clean, I promise.” 

“Thanks,” she murmurs, fingers trailing over the faded name of their high school. 

“For old time’s sake,” he offers with a smile when he catches her looking.

“Did you order?” David asks, pawing at Patrick’s sweater as he tries to hand Rachel a full glass of wine. “What did you get?” 

“After all this time and you still don’t trust me,” Patrick laments with piled-on thick disappointment, leaning in to place a kiss on his husband’s cheek. 

But David swerves, so he gets nothing but air. “Patrick Matthew Brewer, you know we don’t joke about pizza.” 

“Oooh he middle names you, too,” Rachel says, clapping her hands together. Though now that she thinks about it, she’s _starving._

“Mkay,” Patrick starts, glaring at them each in turn, “that’s enough out of you, Ms. Veggie Pizza No Onions, and you, Mr. Meat Lovers Extra Pepperoni. I’d like to think I know you both a little by now.” 

And clearly he does, because for her at least, that was bang on. 

They all decide to change into more comfortable clothes while they wait for the pizza, which leads to a spirited discussion about which movie to watch that lasts all the way up the stairs and even through the partially cracked door of each of their bedrooms. 

“Oh, there’s a new toothbrush in the top drawer beneath the sink!” Patrick yells as David gasps loud enough for Rachel to hear it down the hall. 

“Your _products_!” 

Next thing she knows, she’s perched on the closed toilet seat in the guest room’s en suite, glass of wine in hand, as David carefully takes her through the travel bottles he pilfered from his own store for her. Patrick is leaning against the doorjamb in pajamas, watching with a fond and proud smile as the cabernet he’s drinking turns his pink lips purple.

“Don’t forget the toner, babe,” he teases, nudging David with his toe, and David glares at him in the reflection of the mirror. 

“I’m _getting_ there, honey.” 

Rachel nearly snorts wine through her nose. Luckily she’s saved when the doorbell rings and they’re all distracted by the enticing thought of complex carbohydrates and cheese. They traipse downstairs, but not before David lines the mini bottles up in the order they are meant to be used, and Rachel makes a (admittedly hazy) mental note to send him some flowers or something. Maybe chocolates. She hasn’t known him long, but the David Rose sweet tooth is legendary. 

They spread out the boxes on the coffee table and each take a seat on the couch, David and Rachel on either end with Patrick in between. They argue some more about the unresolved movie issue with David lobbying hard for The First Wives Club, which Rachel thinks is a _hilarious_ choice of film given the evening’s audience, but Patrick has just enough of his wits left to try and steer his husband towards a less… divorcey film. 

“But Bette! And Diane! And Goldie!” he argues, already cuing it up on the screen. “Stockard! SJP!” 

Patrick at least knows when he’s beat, shaking his head as he leans in. “Sorry about this,” he murmurs, and Rachel laughs as she tucks a paper towel in her collar because David already threatened to bring out the sex sheet if they got anything on the couch. 

“It’s all right,” she giggles. “It’s not like we were actually married.” God, she has no idea when Patrick last willingly watched a rom com with her. “Seriously, Patty, it’s _fine_ ,” she says, just to watch him make that face again. “It’s a good movie!”

“A great movie!” David declares, mouth full of pepperoni, unaware of the conversation happening to his right. “Oh my God, I forgot about Maggie Smith!” 

Rachel bites her lip as she pulls a gooey piece of veggie pizza from the pie, trying very hard not to laugh and failing miserably. Especially when she feels Patrick shaking next to her, trying to keep his own amusement inside. She had no idea when she sat in her car full of nerves just hours ago that the night would end like this. She can’t remember the last time either of them laughed this hard together.

When she pulled that letterman jacket out of the back of her closet and decided on a whim that she wanted Patrick to have it, she couldn’t have known that she’d get her best friend back in the exchange.

Frankly, she thinks she got the better deal.

By the time Goldie Hawn is exacting her revenge on Victor Garber, her stomach is full of pizza and her veins are definitely full of Rose Apothecary’s finest vintage. She leans back against the cushions as Patrick slowly lists to starboard, his head eventually dropping onto her shoulder. 

David glances over and giggles. “Sorry. He always passes out when he has wine.” 

She shrugs with a chuckle, and Patrick’s head slides from her shoulder to her lap. “Good to know some things never change.” She sighs and continues watching the film as David reaches down and scoops his husband’s legs over his knees. 

“His back would never forgive me if I left him in that position. Are you okay?” he asks, gesturing to where Patrick is now gently snoring against her sweatpants.

“As long as he doesn’t drool on me, I’ll be fine,” she laughs.

“No guarantees,” he replies, but he’s watching her knowingly and with far more sobriety than he has any right to considering the number of bottles in their recycling. “It’s okay, you know,” he murmurs. “If you’re not.” 

She slowly turns to look at him, alcohol-addled brain struggling to understand if he means what she thinks he does, but he deliberately keeps his eyes on the screen. “David - ”

“This was a lot to throw at you unexpectedly,” he says, “and - and you and Patrick had something special. I mean - ” he laughs a little self-consciously, “I _wish_ I had that kind of history with someone. That I could share stories like you did outside. The only person I have history with is Alexis, and no one wants to hear that.”

She kind of does, but he keeps going. And she lets him because she’s _floored_.

“So it’s okay,” he concludes, finally looking at her. “If you’re not okay.” 

Her throat is tight and oh _fuck_ she’s tearing up, but David just stares back at her steadily, giving her the space and the time to feel this moment. She glances down at her first love, sprawled out between his first and his last. He’s responsible for some of her highest highs and her lowest lows, but she doesn’t regret any of it. Especially if she gets to have this. 

She _is_ okay. She’s more than okay. 

And there’s really only one thing left to say: 

“I’m so glad he found you.” 

David smiles that crooked smile. “Thanks for loving him until he did.” 

_Oh._ That’s… 

Yeah. 

She laughs wetly and looks down, shaking her head. “I’ll always love him.”

“I know,” David murmurs. 

“Is that okay?” 

David rears back. “Of course it is. He’ll always love you too. He - he _adores_ you. Hello!” He gestures to the fact that his husband has faceplanted against her thigh and she laughs, finally allowing herself to gently stroke his hair. It’s softer than she remembers and she supposes she can thank David for that, too. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I can take credit for this. This is courtesy of cabernet sauvignon.”

They watch the end of the movie together, quiet but comfortable. United in their love for the idiot _definitely_ drooling on her. 

And maybe even united in their love for each other, too. 

“Bed?” David asks when the credits start to roll and she nods. 

“Just warn me if you’re going to take the letterman jacket out for a test run tonight. I left my headphones in the car.” 

He points to Patrick’s prone form. “You think _this_ would be able to stay in character?”

She laughs loudly at that, causing Patrick to groan and bury his face in her stomach. She glances up at David with a look she hopes screams _help_ , but he merely rolls his eyes. 

“Patrick? C’mon, honey, wake up.” He taps his ass but Patrick just groans again, tucking his knees toward the back of the couch and getting an arm around Rachel’s torso. “Fucking koala bear,” David mutters, but it’s smitten. 

She holds up a finger and leans down, whispering in his ear, “Patrick, oh my God, your mom’s coming.” 

Sure enough, he jolts and his eyes shoot open, blearily blinking for a second before landing first on Rachel and then on David. A sleepy smile stretches across his face. “My people,” he murmurs, reaching out for them both. 

David takes his hand, but Rachel gently slaps the one reaching for her away. “How did you know that would work?” he asks as he tugs Patrick to sitting. 

She bends her knees, trying to get feeling in her legs again. “Lots of last minute scrambling to find clothes. Poor Marcy Brewer has seen far more of me than she should ever have to.” 

David grimaces. “Same, honestly.” 

She snorts. “Break in the childhood bedroom, did you?” 

David flushes. “Break in’ is definitely one phrase for it,” he says carefully and her jaw drops. 

“You _broke_ the _bed_?” 

“What did we do?” Patrick asks, swaying into David’s side. 

“Nothing, honey. Bedtime.” 

“Bedtime,” Patrick repeats with a sleepy nod, as David gives Rachel a thumbs up behind his back. 

"Impressive, Rose," she says with honest-to-God awe. "Very impressive." She follows them up the stairs, saying goodnight in the hall before parting ways. David calls back to her, though, just before she disappears into the guest room. 

“You’re always welcome here,” he says, and she smiles. 

“Thank you, David.” 

He nods and follows Patrick into their bedroom, and she closes her own door and leans against it, exhaling heavily. She feels lighter somehow because of it.

Sure enough, she finds a new toothbrush in the top drawer beneath the sink and gets started on the skincare routine while trying to keep Patrick’s sweatpants from falling off her body.

She’s on step five when there’s a knock at the door, and she calls out a “Come in” as she massages moisturizer into her skin in concentric circles like David showed her, entering the bedroom in time to see Patrick peek his head in the door. “Hey,” she says, slightly surprised. “What’s up?” 

He shrugs and pads further into the room, closing the door behind him. She frowns and tilts her head in question, but he keeps coming. He keeps coming until he’s wrapping her up in a hug so tight, she can only grunt out an “Oh,” as she takes his weight, unclear what to do with her arms as he buries his face in her neck. “Okay.” 

She gently pats his back but he holds on harder, and after a moment, she finally lets herself close her eyes and sink into the embrace, holding onto him just as tightly. 

“You okay?” she asks and feels him nod against her shoulder. 

“You?” 

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I am.” 

“Just wanted to say goodnight.” He inhales and his ribs expand beneath her grip. Then he says, “I’m glad you’re glad I found him” and, for a second, everything stops. 

“Oh you little shit,” she mutters. “You were awake?” She leans back and hopes she looks as indignant as she feels. 

His cheeks are as red as his lips, but at least he looks contrite. “Not for all of it. But for enough.” 

“You’re the worst.” She rolls her eyes and tries to pull away, but he won’t let her. 

“It was very sweet." 

“Yeah, yeah. Asshole.” She laughs and gives him a little shove, and he finally lets go.

"Love you,” he murmurs, and she sighs, begrudging and put-upon. 

“Love you, too.” 

He smiles and heads for the door, but just as he grabs the knob, he stops and turns back to her again, suddenly serious. 

“Rach. There is no David without you, you know.”

She sucks in a breath as her lower lip wobbles. He glances around the room. 

“None of this would have been possible if you hadn’t offered it to me first.” His voice gets rough and he clears his throat, but it doesn’t help. “You made me realize what I want.” 

And because she’s just as terrible as he is, she replies, “And it wasn’t me.” 

He laughs, which had been her goal, but the levity doesn’t last long. “You were there first and you’ll be there always.” He gives a little shrug, but his eyes don’t leave hers. “I hope you know that.” 

She swallows hard and nods. “I know.” 

He puts his hand over his heart and she watches him go; her first love who won’t be her last. 

Her best friend who isn’t going anywhere. 

She knows that now.


End file.
